Night of the Living Dummy 2 by R. L. Stine
I’d drag them into my room. Slappy would be slumped lifelessly on the closet floor. Mom and Dad would be even more upset about me.
Sara, I thought. Maybe I can convince Sara. Maybe Sara will listen to me.
Her door was open. I burst into her bedroom.
She stood at the mural, brush in hand, dabbing yellow paint on the beach.
She turned as I ran in, and her face tightened in anger. “Amy — what do you want?” she demanded.
“You — you’ve got to believe me!” I sputtered. “I need your help! It wasn’t me who did those horrible things. It really wasn’t, Sara. It was Slappy. Please — believe me! It was Slappy!”
“Yes. I know,” Sara replied calmly.
“Huh?” My mouth dropped open. I stared at her in surprise. “What did you say?”
Sara set down the paintbrush. She wiped her hands on her gray smock. “Amy — I know it’s Slappy,” she repeated in a whisper.
“I — I —” I was so stunned, I couldn’t speak. “But, Sara — you —”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” she cried with emotion. She rushed forward and threw her arms around me. She hugged me tightly.
I still didn’t believe what she had said. My head was spinning.
I gently pushed her away. “You knew all this time? You knew it was Slappy and not me?”
Sara nodded. “The other night, I woke up. I heard someone in my room. I pretended to be asleep. But I had my eyes open partway.”
“And?” I demanded.
“I saw Slappy,” Sara confessed, lowering her eyes. “I saw him carrying a red paintbrush. I saw him painting AMY AMY AMY AMY all over my walls.”
“But you didn’t tell Mom and Dad?” I cried. “You made them think it was me? And the whole time, you knew the truth?”
Sara kept her eyes on the floor. Her black hair fell over her face. She brushed it back with a quick, nervous sweep of one hand.
“I — I didn’t want to believe it,” she confessed. “I didn’t want to believe that a dummy could walk on its own, that it could be … alive.”
I glared at her. “And, so?”
“So I accused you,” Sara said with a sob. “I guess the truth was just too scary. I was too frightened, Amy. I wanted to believe it was you doing those horrible things. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t the dummy.”
“You wanted to get me in trouble,” I accused. “That’s why you did it, Sara. That’s why you lied to Mom and Dad. You wanted to get me in trouble.”
She finally raised her face to me. I saw two tears trailing down her cheeks. “Yeah, I guess,” she murmured.
She wiped the tears off with her hands. Her green eyes locked on mine. “I — I guess I’m a little jealous of you,” she said.
“Huh?” My sister had stunned me again. I squinted at her, trying to make sense of her words. “You?” I cried. “You’re jealous of me?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess. Everything is easy for you. You’re so relaxed. Everyone likes your sense of humor. It’s not like that for me,” Sara explained. “I have to paint to impress people.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
This had to be the biggest surprise of all. Sara jealous of me?
Didn’t she know how jealous I was of her?
I suddenly had a funny feeling in my chest. My eyes brimmed with tears. Strong emotion swept over me like an ocean wave.
I rushed forward and hugged Sara.
For some reason, we both started laughing. I can’t explain it. We stood there in the middle of her room, laughing like lunatics.
I guess we were just so glad that the truth was out.
Then Slappy’s painted face flashed back into my mind. And I remembered with a chill why I had burst into my sister’s room.
“You have to help me,” I told her. “Right now.”
Sara’s smile vanished. “Help you do what?” she demanded.
“We have to get rid of Slappy,” I told her. “We have to get rid of him for good.”
I tugged her hand. She followed me down the hall.
“But — how?” she asked.
Stepping into my room, we both cried out at once.
We heard a final kick — and the closet door swung open.
Slappy burst out, his eyes wild with rage.
“Guess what, slaves?” he rasped. “Slappy wins!”
“Grab him!” I cried to my sister.
I reached out both arms and made a frantic dive for the dummy. But he scampered to the side and slipped away from my tackle.
His blue eyes flashed excitedly. His red lips twisted in an ugly grin.
“Give up, slaves!” he rasped. “You cannot win!”
Sara held back, hands against the door frame. I could see the fear in her eyes.
I made another grab for Slappy. Missed again.
“Sara — help me!” I pleaded.
Sara took a step into the room.
I leaped at Slappy, grabbed one boneless ankle.
With a grunt, he pulled out of my grasp. He darted toward the door — and ran right into Sara.
The collision stunned them both.
Sara staggered back.
Slappy teetered off balance.
I threw myself at him, caught his arms, and pulled them behind his back.
He squirmed and twisted. He kicked out furiously.
But Sara grabbed both of his big leather shoes. “Tie him in a knot!” she cried breathlessly.
He kicked and thrashed.
But we held tight.
I twisted his arms behind him. Twisted them around each other. Twisted. Twisted. Then tied them in as tight a knot as I could.
Slappy squirmed and bucked, grunting loudly, his wooden jaws clicking.
When I glanced up from my work on the arms, I saw that Sara had wrapped his legs in a knot, too.
Slappy tilted back his head and uttered a roar of rage. His eyes slid up into his head so that only the whites showed. “Put me down, slaves! Put me down at once!”
With one hand, I grabbed a wad of tissues from my bed table and jammed it into Slappy’s mouth.
He uttered a grunt of protest, then went silent.
“Now what?” Sara cried breathlessly. “Where should we put him?”
My eyes shot around the room. No, I decided. I don’t want him in my room. I don’t want him in the house.
“Outside,” I instructed my sister, holding on to the knotted arms with both of my hands. “Let’s get him outside.”
Struggling to hold on to the bucking legs, Sara glanced at the clock. “It’s after eleven. What if Mom and Dad hear us?”
“I don’t care!” I cried. “Hurry! I want him out of here! I never want to see him again!”
We dragged Slappy out into the hall. Mom and Dad’s door remained closed.
Good, I thought. They hadn’t heard our struggle.
Sara carried him by the knotted legs. I held on to the arms.
Slappy had stopped struggling and squirming. I think he was waiting to see what we were going to do with him. The wad of tissues had silenced his cries.
I didn’t know where to take him. I only knew I wanted him out of the house.
We carried him through the darkened living room and out the front door. We stepped into a hot, sticky night, more like summer than spring. A pale sliver of a moon hovered low in a blue-black sky.
There was no breeze. No sounds of any kind. Nothing moved.
Sara and I carried the dummy to the driveway. “Should we take him somewhere on our bikes?” she suggested.
“How will we balance him?” I asked. “Besides, it’s too dark. Too dangerous. Let’s just carry him a few blocks and dump him somewhere.”
“You mean in a trash can or something?” Sara asked.
I nodded. “That’s where he belongs. In the trash.”
Luckily, the dummy didn’t weigh much at all. We made our way to the sidewalk, then carried him to the end of the block.
Slappy r
At the corner, I spotted two circles of white light approaching. Car headlights. “Quick!” I whispered to Sara.
We slipped behind a hedge just in time. The car rolled by without slowing.
We waited for the glow of red taillights to disappear in the darkness. Then we continued down the next block, carrying the dummy between us.
“Hey — how about those?” Sara asked, pointing with her free hand.
I squinted to see what she had spotted. A row of metal trash cans lined up at the curb in front of a dark house across the street.
“Looks good,” I said. “Let’s shove him in and clamp down the lid. Maybe the trash guys will haul him away tomorrow.”
I led the way across the street — and then stopped. “Sara — wait,” I whispered. “I have a better idea.”
I dragged the dummy toward the corner. I motioned to the metal drain down at the curb.
“The sewer?” Sara whispered.
I nodded. “It’s perfect.” Through the narrow opening at the curb, I could hear running water far down below. “Come on. Shove him in.”
Slappy still didn’t move or protest in any way.
I lowered his head to the drain opening. Then Sara and I pushed him in headfirst.
I heard a splash and a hard thud as he hit the sewer floor.
We both listened. Silence. Then the soft trickle of water.
Sara and I grinned at each other.
We hurried home. I was so happy, I skipped most of the way.
* * *
The next morning, Sara and I came to the kitchen for breakfast together. Mom turned from the counter, where she was pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Jed was already at the table, eating his Frosted Flakes. “What’s he doing down here?” Jed asked.
He pointed across the table.
At Slappy. Sitting in the chair.
Sara and I both gasped.
“Yes. Why is that dummy down here?” Mom asked me. “I found him sitting there when I came in this morning. And why is he so dirty? Where has he been, Amy?”
I could barely choke out a word. “I … uh … I guess he fell or something,” I finally mumbled.
“Well, take him back upstairs,” Mom ordered. “He’s supposed to be kept in the closet — remember?”
“Uh … yeah. I remember,” I said, sighing.
“You’ll have to clean him up later,” Mom said, stirring her coffee. “He looks as if he’s been wallowing in the mud.”
“Okay,” I replied weakly.
I hoisted Slappy up and slung him over my shoulder. Then I started to my room.
“I — I’ll come with you,” Sara stammered.
“What for?” Mom demanded. “Sit down, Sara, and eat your breakfast. You’re both going to be late.”
Sara obediently sat down across from Jed. I made my way down the hall.
I was halfway to my room when Slappy raised his head and whispered in my ear, “Good morning, slave. Did you sleep well?”
I tossed him into the closet and locked the door. I could hear him laughing inside the closet. The evil laugh made me shake all over.
What am I going to do now? I asked myself. What can I do to get rid of this creature?
* * *
The day dragged by. I don’t think I heard a word my teacher said.
I couldn’t get Slappy’s evil, grinning face out of my mind. His raspy voice rattled in my ears.
I won’t be your slave! I silently vowed. I’ll get you out of my house — out of my life — if it’s the last thing I do!
* * *
That night, I lay wide awake in my bed. How could I sleep, knowing that evil dummy sat in the closet a few feet away?
The night was hot and steamy. I had pushed the window open all the way, but there was no breeze. A fly buzzed by my head, the first fly of spring.
Staring up at the twisting shadows on the ceiling, I brushed the fly away with one hand. As soon as the buzzing vanished, another sound took its place.
A click. A low squeak.
The sound of the closet door opening.
I raised myself up off the pillow. Squinting into the darkness, I saw Slappy creep out of the closet.
He took a few shuffling steps, his big shoes sliding silently over my carpet. He turned.
Was he coming toward my bed?
No.
His head and shoulders bobbed as he pulled himself to the door. Then out into the hall.
He’s going to Sara’s room, I knew.
But what was he going to do there? Did he plan to pay us back for what we did to him last night?
What new horror was he going to create?
I lowered my feet to the floor, climbed out of bed, and followed him out into the hall.
My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim yellow light from the night-light at the other end of the hall. I watched Slappy slither toward my sister’s room. He moved as silently as a shadow.
I held my breath and kept my back against the wall as I followed behind him. When he turned into Sara’s room, I stepped away from the wall and started to run.
I reached the bedroom doorway in time to see Slappy pick up a wide paintbrush from Sara’s supply table. He took a step toward the mural on the wall.
One step.
And then another small figure leaped out of the darkness.
The lights flashed on.
“Dennis!” I cried.
“Stand back!” Dennis ordered in a high, shrill voice. He lowered his wooden head and charged at Slappy.
Sara sat up in her bed and uttered a frightened cry.
I could see the stunned expression on Slappy’s face.
Dennis flew at Slappy. He slammed his head into Slappy’s middle.
Slappy let out a loud “Oooof!” He staggered back. Fell.
A loud thud rang through the room as the back of Slappy’s head hit Sara’s iron bedpost.
I raised both hands to my cheeks and gasped as Slappy’s head cracked open.
The wooden head split down the middle.
I watched the evil face crack apart. The wide, shocked eyes slid in different directions. The red lips cracked and fell away.
The head dropped to the floor in two pieces. And then the body collapsed in a heap beside them.
My hands still pressed against my face, my heart pounding, I took a few steps into the room.
Dennis ran past me, out to the hall.
But my eyes were locked on the two pieces of Slappy’s head. I stared in horror as an enormous white worm crawled out of one of the pieces. The fat worm slithered and curled to the wall — and vanished into a crack in the molding.
Sara climbed out of bed, breathing hard, her face bright red from the excitement.
The closet door swung open. Mom and Dad came bursting out.
“Girls — are you okay?” Dad cried.
We nodded.
“We saw the whole thing!” Mom exclaimed. She threw her arms around me. “Amy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. We should have believed you. I’m so sorry we didn’t believe you.”
“We believe you now!” Dad declared, staring down at Slappy’s broken head, his crumpled body. “We saw everything!”
It was all planned. Sara and I had worked it out before dinner.
Sara convinced Mom and Dad to hide in the closet. Mom and Dad were really creeped out by the way I was acting. They were willing to do anything.
So Sara pretended to go to sleep. Mom and Dad hid in the closet.
I left the closet door unlocked to make it easier for Slappy to get out.
I knew Slappy would creep into Sara’s room. I knew Mom and Dad would finally see that I’m not crazy.
And then Jed burst out dressed as Dennis, with Dennis’s head propped up on top of his turtleneck sweater.
We knew that would shock Slappy. We knew it would give us a chance to grab him.
We didn’t know what a great job Jed would do. We didn’t know
“Hey — where is Jed?” I asked, my eyes searching the room.
“Jed? Jed?” Mom called. “Where are you? You did a great job!”
No reply.
No sign of my brother.
“Weird,” Sara muttered, shaking her head.
We all trooped down the hall into Jed’s room.
We found him in bed, sound asleep. He groggily raised his head from the pillow and squinted at us. “What time is it?” he asked sleepily.
“It’s nearly eleven,” Dad replied.
“Oh, no!” Jed cried, sitting up. “I’m sorry! I forgot to wake up! I forgot I was supposed to dress up like Dennis!”
I felt a shiver run down my back. I turned to my parents. “Then who fought Slappy?” I asked. “Who fought Slappy?”
The stairs up to my attic are narrow and steep. The fifth step is loose and wobbles when you stand on it. All the other stairs creak and groan.
My whole house creaks and groans. It’s a big, old house. And it’s kind of falling apart. Mom and Dad don’t really have the money to repair it.
“Trina — hurry!” my brother, Dan, whispered. His words echoed in the steep attic stairwell. Dan is ten, and he is always in a hurry.
He’s short and very skinny. I think he looks like a mouse. He has short brown hair, dark eyes, and a pointy little chin. And he’s always scurrying around like a mouse searching for a place to hide.
Sometimes I call him Mouse. You know. Like a nickname. Dan hates it. So I only call him Mouse when I want to make him mad.
Dan and I don’t look at all like brother and sister. I’m tall and I have curly red hair and green eyes. I’m a little chubby, but Mom says not to worry about it. I’ll probably slim down by the time I’m thirteen, next August.
Anyway, no one would ever call me Mouse! For one thing, I’m a lot braver than Dan.
You have to be brave to go up to our attic. Not because of the creaking stairs. Or the way the wind whistles through the attic windows and makes the panes rattle. Not because of the dim light up there. Or the shadows. Or the low ceiling covered with cracks.
You have to be brave because of the eyes.
The dozens of eyes that stare at you through the darkness.